The Torments of Memory
by Deweynumbers
Summary: Forgetting the past seems to be a lot harder for Gene this time around, but what would it take to make this stubborn man go to the pub?  Starts at the end of Series 3 Ep 8.
1. Chapter 1

**The Torments of Memory**

Disclaimer: Main characters belong to BBC/Kudos/Monastic, as does the wonderful world of Fenchurch East. Just taking them around the block for the second time.

'The past is not dead. It's not even past.'

(Requiem for a Nun– William Faulkner)

Chapter 1

As usual DCI Gene Hunt had paperwork to complete. There were transfer records to be signed and reports on DI Ray Carling, DC Chris Skelton and DC Sharon Granger to be deposited in the Personnel archive.

The last file was the difficult one – DI Alex Drake – an impossible, assertive, beautiful, maddening and confusing woman. _Great tits and arse; and not a bad copper either,_ he reflected wistfully. Gene had never met anyone remotely like Alex during his long tenure at Fenchurch East, and decided as he closed the file that she demanded a memorial of some kind. Thinking about her might be exquisitely painful but, after all, only he knew that she had been the one thing standing between his world and utter catastrophe.

Dreading that he was about to give way to emotion and cursing himself under his breath for acting like a 'soft Southerner', Gene Hunt drew his office blinds and pinned badge number 6220 to the notice board. Pouring a generous measure of whisky, he sat down and toasted the badge. "See you around, Bolly-kecks."

_Why the 'eck did I do that? I should be concentrating on something important like a new motor. _

Reassured that life was returning to normal, the DCI began reading the Mercedes brochure on his desk and his thoughts were soon fixed on acceleration rates and potential cornering control. Choosing a new car was a serious matter, and to be disturbed by raised voices in the outer office was less than amusing.

As Gene rose from his chair he could hear the newcomer bleating about 'his office' and something called an 'iPhone'. _Oh great – a techno-twerp. 'Ere we go again. It's time to say 'ello._

Opening the door he rasped, "A word in your shell-like, pal?", and made a gesture apparently inviting the young man into his office.

"Okay, let's get it over with. Who are you and why are you shoutin' the odds and givin' me brain-ache?

"I'm DI Brian Mercer, as I've been trying to explain to these idiots. I want my office and my iPhone returned now. The joke's gone far enough. Who are you, and whose nightmare is this?"

Weeks later Mercer would still recall the introduction with a shudder. The body-language was unmistakeable; a slow raising of the head accompanied by an intimidatory stare from piercing blue eyes and a voice of command issuing very clear instructions.

"A little piece of advice: next time read the name on the door. D.C.I. Hunt. You're trespassing on my patch and these are my 'idiots'. I'm the one who does the shoutin' around here."

"Fenchurch East needs experienced reliable officers, and you, God 'elp us, asked for a transfer. I was 'oping for someone with a bit of class, so at the moment I'm rather disappointed. Done any real police work lately?"

The 'Manc Lion' was just getting into his stride as he raised his voice, "Terry! Poirot! Give our new boy the official guided tour. He seems a bit slow on the uptake, so remind him that in this station we never forget that policing is about people; except when we're draggin' scum off the streets and into our nice warm cells."

As Gene finished with a flicker of a smile Brian seemed frozen to the marrow. _That's 'im sorted._

"By the way – you're not another bloody profiler I 'ope? They can be a right pain in the arse."

* * *

Just a short chapter to start things where we left off. Reading and reviewing would be greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Torments of Memory**

Disclaimer: The DCI, Terry and the rest of the lads at Fenchurch East belong to the BBC, Kudos and Monastic. Sgt. Griffin, Brian Mercer, and Percy and his friends are mine.

Chapter 2

The following day DI Mercer turned up for work bright and early, hoping to make some sense of his surroundings.

Quickly noting that no-one said or did anything before at least one coffee and two cigarettes, Mercer was even more convinced that he had walked into the set of a gigantic practical joke. _What primitives this lot are, _he thought dismissively_. Haven't they heard of passive smoking? On top of that, am I really supposed to accept that a police station could be run without IT? Unbelievable!_

Brian was just deciding how best to keep a low profile and avoid DCI Hunt, when the swing-doors were pushed open and the desk sergeant ushered in a small group led by a tall man wearing a scruffy suit, glasses and a determined expression. Sergeant Griffin knocked on Gene's office door.

"Couldn't stop them, Guv – they insisted on seeing you and wouldn't make an appointment."

"DCI Hunt", said the tall man, "we need your help."

"Oh great – it's Percy the Postcard with his deputies. To what do I owe the pleasure? You're not usually up this early."

"Mr Hunt", he whined, "someone's nicking our stock."

"What? Lots of bits of paper? Can't you bring me a real crime?"

"I don't know what you earn, Officer, but last year's losses were more than £5,000. Old postcards, photos and other ephemera are becoming more valuable all the time."

"Oh, don't come the classical scholar with me – why don't we just say odds and ends or even junk?"

"Don't joke, Mr Hunt. Our livelihoods are at stake and we expect help. Our major three day sale is next week. The Town Hall is too big for us to police ourselves. Can we count on this station for support?"

This required a little thought. DCI Hunt's overwhelming concern was how to get to the showroom and collect his new transport. _Right then, I'll try a spot of delegation._

Fixing his gaze on his new DI, Gene asked with a touch of sarcasm, "If I could have your attention, DI Mercer? You can finish your coffee later."

"Let me introduce you to Percival Standish, once something big in the theatre world and now purveyor of any cheap tat he can lay his hands on. Should've stuck to dirty postcards, Percy, pornography pays I'm told."

Edith Ransome, the only female in the group, tried to add a dignified tone to the proceedings. "We help preserve the past, DCI Hunt. These photos and cards enable people to revisit their memories."

This rather prim comment brought a frozen look to Gene Hunt's face, as if something unpleasant had been brought to mind. Shrugging it off he said in a low voice, "Never been a fan of photography meself – somehow you don't get the whole story."

With a nervous glance at Terry, Sergeant Griffin intervened. It was what he liked to term 'customer service'. "I'll take our guests down to Interview Room One, and organise tea and coffee while they look at the mug shots. They might recognise one or two of our regulars."

As the visiting group left CID, the DCI snapped back into action. "Terry, you can handle this one. I've got to see a man about a motor."

"DI Mercer, you take charge at the sale. Percy came prepared, so look at the Town Hall layout, staff details and lists of dealers. Rope in as many 'Plod' as you think you'll need to cover all three days. Don't forget, Mercer, you only have the week. Either you'll solve it or Percy will bore you to death!"

Terry, Mercer and the rest of the team were hardly seen in the office during the next few days. While the DCI had complete trust in Terry, Mercer was an unknown quantity. Would he turn out to be a team-player, or another lone wolf? A darkening mood of resentment, mixed with frustration, settled over CID. _This delegatin' lark might be modern policing an' all that, but I need some action. Why should they have all the fun?_

At lunch time on the third day of the sale, the unnatural quiet was broken as Mercer, Terry and Bammo burst into the office. Mercer seemed transformed by all the attention he was receiving and the other members of the team were talking animatedly about 'a result'.

Gene looked closely at his detectives. They were certainly flushed with success, but had they already been to the pub without him?

"Terry – in here –I'll take your report, if you can spare the time."

As he took his seat in the inner office, Terry began a little nervously, "Guv, you owe me a drink for babysitting the new boy." Glancing quickly at his boss, he was surprised to see that he had won his point.

"Ok, Ok - get on with it, an' keep it short or we'll be wasting drinkin' time."

"The whole thing seemed to be a mixture of panic and boredom to start with. Well, by the end of the first day Percy was panicking and we were bored. Then Brian started to put things together. He told Percy, to his face, that he had only himself to blame as the whole event was 'a chaotic environment, ripe for exploitation'."

"Really?" Gene sounded interested. "Wish I'd tried a line like that."

"Percy was told not to announce any new thefts and just report them direct to us. Brian noticed a pattern in the thefts reported this year, with only a few cards lost by each dealer and no dealer being robbed at consecutive sales. We only had time for one pint after work before Mercer announced that the robberies were 'too subtle to be random'. Conclusion: it had to be an inside job!"

"The second day was keeping an eye on all the official staff. Small-scale thieving continued with the loss of good stock, but not from what Percy called his 'First Division' clients."

"On the morning of the third day, we caught them red-handed. Two or three staff had been going round to collect table rents from all the dealers and covering for them while they had a quick tea break. This gave them just enough time to select a few cards, and pass them on to their accomplices who were selling them on to out-of-town dealers. The goods never left the hall: instant profit – simple!"

"Yeah, Guv. Once Mercer got down to business he turned out to be a smart lad."

"Well, well – hardly the crime of the century, but at least the little runt performed, eh? We were overdue something to celebrate."

Terry and Gene returned to the outer office where the team seemed surprised to see their leader smiling broadly.

"Congratulations, DI Mercer, good work!" The hearty slap on the back nearly knocked Brian off his seat.

"Now, everyone pack up at five and it's down to the pub. 'Joe' here will be buying the first round."

* * *

Joe Mercer, legendary Manchester City manager – the Guv's seal of approval.

A/N: Business appears to be back to normal, so what happens next?

**Thank****s to anyone who has read the first two chapters, and particular thanks to anyone who posts a comment – much appreciated.**

**TBC **


	3. Chapter 3

**The Torments of Memory**

Disclaimer: Gene and the lads belong to BBC, Kudos and Monastic. So, of course, does our heroine. No copyright infringements intended.

Chapter 3

Once conceded, delegation gradually became the norm. New teams clustered around Terry and Mercer, and Gene found that he had time on his hands. Less activity meant more time to remember and rituals such as toasting the badge became something to focus on each week. No-one thought to question his actions, and after a while even the need to draw the office blinds faded.

The ritual of 'going for a beer' became even more important. During his first few months at Fenchurch East, Brian Mercer made a real effort to adapt to his new surroundings and this meant participating in the after-work pub visits. Gene noted, with approval, that 'Joe' was scrupulous in buying his share of the drinks and assumed that he was settling in as one of the team.

DI Mercer, meanwhile, was biding his time; still uncertain how best to react to his boss's old-fashioned ways._ I'd prefer to drink lager, but the best thing for me is to get in tight with the rest of the lads. Tackling the problem of the 'Guv' I'll leave for later. _The embarrassment of his first encounter with DCI Hunt faded after a few weeks and as his confidence increased, Brian decided to take matters into his own hands. He approached the Division's senior officers with plans to introduce a proper computer network throughout the station and was delegated to organise training for all officers.

The rate of change accelerated as fear of 'Discipline and Complaints' was replaced by what Terry and Gene agreed was the curse of 'Health and Safety'. The arrival of the new computers seemed to lead to a paradoxical increase in the amount of paperwork, but an influx of female officers helped reassure the boys in CID that their working environment was improving.

Mercer was satisfied in having created a new unifying force: individuals connected through technology, not bound together through the strength of one man's will. The DI was determined to make this strange posting work to his advantage, and began to cultivate any new arrivals. Sooner or later they would take his advice on how things should be done. It was a massive project to have evidence files and other records transferred to the network, but generally the station staff proved anxious to assist. The one exception was DCI Hunt, who stubbornly refused to make his Personnel archive public. Brian's private comments to Terry on what he saw as 'this refusal to accept change' could easily have resulted in a disciplinary charge. However, face to face with an unsmiliing DCI, both men kept their thoughts to themselves and accepted the excuse that the files were linked to a Special Branch operation.

After these months of tedious consolidation, DI Mercer felt brave enough to turn his sights on the 'Guv'. Brian had never had problems with Terry, and he began his questions when they were trapped in a squad car observing activities at a local timber yard.

"Tell me about the DCI. I can't make him out. Seems a real old-timer. He barely copes with the cassettes in the interview rooms, never mind anything more up to date."

"Started off up Manchester way I believe, but he's been at Fenchurch East for ages now."

"Married?"

"He was once, but now it's the job I'd say. Never seen him with anyone outside work."

"Do you like working at Fenchurch East?"

"Can't really remember anything else. The Guv is hard but fair, and always looks out for his team. I ought to warn you though, he has a real temper so you don't want to piss him off if you can help it."

Later that week Terry and Brian were in CID working through some old files in preparation for the data transfer project. Brian had a high opinion of his own interview techniques and decided it was time for a little more probing.

"I've noticed the Guv has this ritual, Terry, regular as clockwork. Once a week he sits down in the office and toasts something or someone called 'Bolly-kecks'. What's that about? I wouldn't have pegged Hunt as OCD."

"Who is Bolly-kecks? I'd like to know."

Terry replied in level tones, "A female DI, transferred out just before you arrived. We don't talk about it."

"But all that stuff about toasting the badge?" Mercer pressed the point. "This Bolly – you can tell me the truth." Something of Brian's true nature seemed to emerge from the shadows. "What was she like, Terry? Just a tease, or the Guv's 'bit of skirt'?"

He hadn't exactly whispered the question and before Terry could reply, DCI Hunt erupted into the office grabbing Mercer by his lapels and hoiking him to his feet.

"That's DI Alex Drake to you, you piece of shit!" _The Guv's finally lost it, _thought Terry. "One of the finest officers ever to grace this station. The chances of you matchin' up to her record are the longest shot since the '67 Grand National! So in future, don't speak unless I ask you a question an' keep your filthy opinions to yourself."

Mercer blanched at this torrent of abuse. _Terry was right. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut? _

* * *

OCD – Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

**Is Gene losing his grip? Has he lost control of his team? **

**Galex-relate****d complications to follow**

**TBC**

**To all readers and reviewers - thanks a million :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**The Torments of Memory**

Disclaimer: Main characters and setting not mine (shock horror!). Most of the words are mine (except for the odd direct quotation).

Chapter 4

DCI Gene Hunt was drunk. _Well, why not?_ he thought truculently_. It's late at night and the only time I get any peace and bastard quiet. Yap, Yap, Yap, all day long. Meetings! – It's all brain-storming, motivational training, financial reports and target setting. What about catchin' criminals? _

_No-one to talk to, so perhaps if I write it down I can get it out of me system. I'll send 'er a letter._

As he searched for paper and a decent pen, Gene had a vague memory of being at school and chewing the wooden end of the pens they had used when set some laborious copying task. He had hated writing even then, always preferring to settle problems in the playground with his fists.

Gene began to write, unconscious of what might be revealed. The letter would never be read, and he had no talent for introspection. It was just something to pass the time.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

I don't know where you are, Bols, or if this will ever reach you, but I need to get a few things off me chest and take advantage of the fact that you can't interrupt.

It's time for Poirot to visit the pub so I'm going to ask him to give this letter to Nelson.

As Terry and the lads make up the regular team now, there's no more sitting around waiting to be told what to do. Last week Poirot surprised us all by rescuing a drowning kid. Didn't think he could move that fast, just leaped right in. Poor bloke was shattered and suddenly his memory returned. During a period of snowy winter weather he and some mates were in a park, arsing about on duty, and the poor sod fell into an icy river and drowned.

DI Mercer, your replacement, is finally beginning to look like a real copper. It was touch and go to start with. He behaved like Skelton, copying the grownups, until I got the team to take him in hand. Still, Joe gets a round in without too many hints and you'd laugh at the way he's brought CID into the computer age.

Terry and Bammo still remember you but it lowers morale if we keep going on about how good the team used to be. I don't want to forget you, but even more I don't want to remember all the trouble you caused.

The way you used to wiggle your backside around CID, always knowing we were clocking the view. Talk about distracting, I had to work bloody hard to get me mind back on the job. Why do you think I was always in a bad temper? At least Sam didn't try that one.

The way you wouldn't leave it alone when Keats started: pick, pick, pick. I did try to warn you but you never would take advice. Always la-di-da Bolly-knickers, I know better than the rest of you. Same trouble with Sam – always wanting to do things differently.

Stopped meself from beating up a suspect this week, so that's another little piece of fun off the agenda. Mind you I still want to give DI Mercer a thump; annoying little twat. Terry has been promoted recently and makes a good deputy. Not much use in a ruck, though, he's more of an office man, and Mercer won't take too kindly to the competition.

Now I'm getting warmed up, what is it with women always having to be talking? Did you ever understand the idea of a quiet pint? Your giving me grief about driving the Quattro too fast was the hardest thing to put up with. Visiting my mother is ok, but I'd rather not have her hanging around at work.

I remember you quoted something by Yeats just before everything went pear-shaped. Well, I went to the library and got them to look me out some of his stuff – came across another one.

'Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'

Hope you're impressed, because it's taken me ages to copy out. Don't know what half of it means, of course, I'm just throwing words around.

Drunk? Of course I'm bloody drunk or I wouldn't be drivelling on like this. Miss you, you daft tart - no-one to argue with. I shout, they jump. It's like a room full of performing seals. Even miss that dipstick Skelton.

Got to finish now, Alex. A one-way conversation is no fun. It's a long trip to Manchester and we have an early start.

Signed (with an extravagant scrawl)

Gene-Genie.

* * *

**A/N – and now for the honesty (or pedantry if you prefer)**** – **

'peace and bastard quiet' – direct quotation – one of my favourite lines!

Snow and police – reference is to Oxford City cops filmed sliding down snowy hill on their shields while on duty. ./uk/2010/jan/14/sledging-police-repri...

'He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven' – Yeats (The Little Oxford Dictionary of Quotations)

**If you're still reading – wonderful. Courage – only two chapters to go.**

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**The Torments of Memory**

Disclaimer: Lucky BBC/Kudos/Monastic –how wonderful to have created A2A. DI Mercer is mine.

Chapter 5

Time passed and the 'Manc Lion' began to wonder if something was missing.

Although the older members of the team still deferred to their DCI, Gene had noticed Mercer establishing his own sphere of influence over the younger officers. The recent compulsory safe driving test had underlined the problem. Gene had passed, just, but the whispered comments and sideways looks had made it a moment of supreme embarrassment.

Was he getting too old? He could admit that he had always struggled with paperwork and other routine tasks, but now there was the additional torture of being confined to the office for days at a time. _If Mercer comes out with that line 'meetings come with management' just once more, I'll swing for 'im!_

Gene couldn't understand it and began mentally ticking off the elements of his normal existence. He was still Sheriff, had a good motor and a competent team with no one member needing to be nursed as had happened in the past. Life's little luxuries were available whenever he had the inclination, and at work there were always police constables to keep him supplied with cigarettes and the occasional drop of whisky.

The DCI failed to identify which essential item was lacking, except to say that he was lonely. The police force that had sustained him for so long was becoming a strange and unsettling environment. _Now I know how Joe felt when he arrived. This long distance policing's not for me. One time we used to stir up the locals, 'persuade' a few suspects, and enjoy smackin' the villains down. Now Mercer and 'is chums do everythin' at arm's length, through their computers. He's just fishing – sittin' on the bank and reelin' them in._

And then the dreams began. Amusing to start with, they quickly began to prey on his mind. It was as if a police spotlight was being turned on him from a great distance.

At first it was just a disembodied voice which Gene identified as belonging to 'some posh bird'. "Guv. DCI Hunt. Where are you?"

A tall, beautiful brunette appeared to him one evening when he dozed off at his desk. "I got your letter, Guv. That made all the difference. You showed me our connection was still strong. When are you coming home? Didn't your mother tell you it was bad manners to keep a lady waiting?"

A sweet, sad smile and then the vision disappeared and Gene was left frustrated, confused and feeling strangely guilty. _Bloody 'ell – I must have 'ammered the booze last night._

The following night Gene was at home by the early evening and had severely reduced his alcohol intake as a precaution. He relaxed for a while watching an old cowboy film, and then retired to bed.

Before long the 'dream' appeared again,this time striding through a travellers' encampment. There seemed an urgent appeal in her voice as if she was trying to communicate something important. "Do you remember what we did here? You named a baby! One of my favourite memories and all I have are memories to pass the time."

Some weeks later Gene and Terry were conducting the investigation into a series of thefts from a dealer specialising in antique motors. Mercer and the rest of the team were happy to leave it to 'the old guys'.

Looking through the details of the cars that had disappeared, Gene's attention was captured by a bright red Audi Quattro, and a soft voice in his ear saying, "Have you forgotten your pride and joy, Gene? You drove like a maniac, but secretly I loved every second! I'd give anything for another trip."

"Who are you?" he muttered. "Where are you?" he whispered. _Why are you talkin' to me?_

Eventually the tone of these apparitions became darker as the mystery woman grew more desperate.

"Stay in the bar long enough and you remember all your lost opportunities. The jukebox here has a strange habit of reflecting my mood:

'Loneliness is a crowded room

Full of open hearts turned to stone

All together, all alone'

"You told me to go and you left me alone. I tried to pass over and forget, but it was never the right time so I waited for you. Your letter gave me hope and I've been showing you a little of what we were to each other."

"Well, now I feel it's all over and I'm back in the deep freeze. Cut off from all the 'light, happiness and peace' I was promised. Even if you can't remember my name, don't you have a nagging feeling that something is wrong?"

"I can't hold on much longer. If you don't come soon I'll ask for a transfer to the other place. What's the difference? I'm in hell already."

"NO!" A cry of revulsion filled the small bedroom as Gene Hunt woke up. Waves of fear, despair and self-disgust began to recede until one thought remained_: I'm comin', Lady Bols, an' I'll 'ammer on the door until you let me in._

There was just time for one last trip back to base, and Hunt reached Fenchurch East in that curious period between the night shift ending and the early shift coming into full operation. Any lingering cleaners took one look at his grim expression and left without a word.

Gene dialled the emergency number '6220' and asked to speak to the Assistant Divisional Commander.

"Michael speaking, Gene. How can I help?"

With a slight catch in his voice, DCI Hunt said, "I'm requestin' early retirement – immediate effect. Places to go, people to see."

"Why now, after all this time?"

"I've forgotten a lot, but not who I am. I 'ave to go where I'm needed most."

"Supreme Command would expect me to thank you for your exemplary service record. You'll be missed, Gene."

A rueful laugh. "Not by this lot, Sir. It's no longer my place, or time."

"Do you have any recommendations?"

"Yes, Sir. Terry's ready to be top man: 'e's seen it all. I suggest you make 'im Superintendent, after a full briefin', and then 'e can keep an eye on Mercer. That way the new generation might learn somethin' from the old."

The DCI's last official duty was to listen to his senior officer confirming that Fenchurch East would remain fully operational.

"Thank you, sir. I'm on me way now. It's time to go to the pub."

* * *

'light, happiness and peace' – (prayer for the dead – Catholic Mass)

Song Lyric – Roxy Music 'Dance Away'.

**A/N – he's made up his mind, but will be he able to take the final step?**

**Once again I must thank all readers and those who have taken the time to post comments. Virtual chocs all round !**

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**The Torments of Memory**

Disclaimer: All main characters and locations belong to BBC/Kudos/Monastic. Thanks for letting them out for a while. One or two direct quotations to spot, but otherwise most of the words are mine.

Chapter 6

Standing outside the Railway Arms, twenty-four hours later, DCI Hunt felt the urge to turn and run. Defiant to the last, he bellowed, "Nelson, what's 'appened to my boozer?"

It was not the Railway Arms as he remembered it. The outside of the pub had been painted white and there were window boxes and flower tubs for decoration. A large banner read 'Welcome Home' and there was even a sign with directions to 'Pub Garden at rear'.

While Gene was standing apparently struck dumb, the doors opened and Alex appeared.

"What 'ave you been doin', woman?"

"Well", she smiled, "I had to have something to do while I was waiting and there are many female officers coming here now. You know me, Guv. Wherever I am, I always make my mark."

"Please tell me it isn't a bleedin' gastro-pub, all pesto and 'piss-poor' beer?" There was real anguish in his tones.

Another familiar figure had emerged from the pub and stood waiting quietly, listening to their conversation. "She is most persistent, mon brave", said Nelson, "but still my favourite customer."

Gene could see that Alex needed to talk. _Great, perhaps she'll save me the bother and Nelson won't 'ave to act as referee._

"Ray told me a long time ago that being with the Guv was the best place to be. He was right. I found that out as soon as I walked through these doors."

"I'm worn out, Alex. No-one in their right mind would choose eternity wi' me. Talk sense."

"You don't really know yourself, do you? If you come on in, I'll give you a hundred reasons. What about the 'Manc Lion' spirit that kept a whole police station going? Or your determination to do right in impossible situations: let alone the love for friends that you always tried to hide? I've had more than enough time to think about it, and I know I'm right."

"Most of all it's because you're here. After all this time, we're still an unbreakable team. We know the truth and nothing can hurt us."

Deep inside Gene Hunt could not quite believe what was in front of him. Was he really being offered the chance of happiness?

"Can't tell you how much I've missed your psycho-bollocks, Madam Fruitcake."

Alex realised that her profiling skills could be useful one last time. She began to speak directly to the young copper and not the all-powerful 'Guv' of latter years.

"You think you're a failure; that you don't deserve to go off-duty. You're afraid; you're worried that it would be soft to stop the fight. You're still blaming yourself for Viv and the others who didn't reach the pub. Stop thinking and accept your reward. Remember your favourite film? Even Gary Cooper gave up his badge for love."

"You saved so many - you saved me. Now it's your turn. What do you want, Gene Hunt? What would make you happy?"

Suddenly it was easy. "You, Bolly-kecks, you and nothing else. Heaven is where you are." Acceptance brought the familiar pout and the mock-aggressive manner as Gene challenged, "So what are you going to do, Alex, punch me or kiss me?"

As they kissed the bitter taste of their last encounter faded and Alex felt her spirits revive. Folded in his embrace she whispered, "Come on in, Gene. I've been picking up tips from the Vice Squad, and we don't want to waste any more time, do we?"

Nelson was still holding the pub doors open invitingly as, with a nod in his direction, Gene turned to Alex determined to have the last word. "Ok, my Lady Bols – it's finally your lucky day - the Gene-Genie is all yours!"

* * *

A/N: I have enjoyed myself (again), but I'm feeling a little lost now that's finished. It's back to the reading and reviewing and searching for some inspiration. I might just have to watch the whole thing again.


End file.
